Sound of the Sixties
by Sachita
Summary: After all this time he still likes to twist and shout and of course he has blue suede shoes- and he doesn't expect any of them to understand him or the Sound of the Sixties. Some Mason/Daisy.


_Hi everyone! This is a little exploration of Mason's character, using some titles of songs that were big hits back in the Sixties or a bit later or earlier, but the story also makes sense if you do not know these songs. I have never written for Dead like me before, so I hope I got everyone right :)_

_English is not my first language, so I'd also like to apologise for strange sentence constructions and self-invented vocabulary :) Please tell me about my mistakes :)_

_So now, enjoy :)) And I am always happy about reviews :)_

_- Sachita_

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the show "Dead like me" and I also do not own any of the song titles._

* * *

**Sound of the Sixties **

**

* * *

**

_ 1. Georgia on my mind_

"Pretty woman, walking down the street…"

Daisy hits him. Hard. Mason probes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He doesn't think that his singing voice is that bad, is it?

"Wha' did you do that for?" he asks, hurt. That cheek is going to be swollen later on, he is sure of that.

"Just because," Daisy snaps and adds an afterthought: "You can't sing."

Mason pouts and he is still pouting when George comes in some minutes later. She sinks down next to him on the couch, looking tired and drawn.

"Bad reap, huh?" Mason asks and nudges her. George smiles, a little bitter smile that Mason doesn't like to see on her face. She is too young to wear a smile like that.

Oblivious to his musings, she says wearily: "A girl, no more than eight years old- a bus- screeching tires- you get the picture." And he does, he truly does.

Taking another long look at George's gloomy face, he begins softly : "Georgia, Georgia …A song of you….Comes as sweet and clear as moonlight through the pines…" During his singing he gets up and pulls her to her feet, swinging her around wildly, dipping her and twirling her with all of his might and under application of every move he has ever learned in the Roaring Sixties. "…lovely Georgia on my mind," he ends dramatically, dipping George so far down that her long hair brushes over the ground.

When he sets her back on her feet, she is smiling. Mason thinks that his singing voice might be bad, but it is good enough to put a genuine smile on Georgie's face and that in return is good enough for him.

* * *

_2. Happy New Year_

It's a few days before New Year's Eve – 20-whatever, Mason sometimes forgets the years because they seem to be rushing by like UFOs in the night- and they are in "dem Waffel-House", talking.

"Das Waffel-House" put on different songs than usual tonight to honour the upcoming New Year's celebration and thus ABBA's voices come out of the speakers. Mason catches a line or two.  
_  
Here we are, me and you  
Feeling lost and feeling blue  
It's the end of the party…_

He gulps a drink down to that line. It's not the end of the party for him and with a start he realises that it will never be. To chase away the depressing thought, he drowns it in some more alcohol and concentrates on the conversation going on around him.

"New Year's Eve 1945…" Daisy muses, "I was out dancing in New York with my reap, an Army Private." She smiles beatifically. "I did a lot of dancing with guys from the Army back then…"

Roxy raises a disbelieving eyebrow. "Dancing was all you ever did with the Army?"

Daisy narrows her eyes at her. "Oh come on, Roxy, don't pretend you're the chaperone of conservatism because I wouldn't believe you."

Roxy merely shrugs. "I for my part never pretended I was."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Daisy retorts and she is backed up by Mason, who won't let Roxy insult his Daisy. "I think your remarks are unsolicited too, Roxy."

George chooses that moment to interrupt the conversation. She has one of her sullen days, as Mason likes to call it in his head.

"Oh shut it, Mason," she snaps. Mason looks at her a bit hurt, although he knows that George who he considers as his baby sister shouldn't be taken seriously when in such a mood.

"What, Georgie?" he asks in surprise. "What about our reminiscence of days gone by irks you so?"

George rolls her eyes. "Oh please, Mason. What were you doing on New Year's Eve 1945 anyway? Can you even remember it, or were you so drunk that you don't know what you did anymore?"

Rube has been dispassionately eating his oatmeal, but at George's last remark he stops and he looks over to Mason who has gone very still. Daisy bites her lip and looks between Mason and George. Roxy looks confused. Mason for his part is strangely hurt by George's words. He doesn't reply and a tense silence settles over the table for a moment. George looks anxious, catching on that her words weren't a good idea.

"On New Year's Eve 1945," Mason enunciates carefully, his clear English accent only serving to enhance the severity of his words, "I was six years old, but I can recall that evening. I was all alone, standing on London Bridge, crying for my Dad. My Mum had been taken by bombs five years before and on that day he also left me to cope for myself."

With that, he gets up and though he has seemed intoxicated mere minutes before, his eyes are now clear and cold. "My post-it, Rube," he says calmly.

Rube hands it over to him without a word.

"Mason-"George starts, visibly upset. "I am sorry-"

Mason inclines his head. "I accept your apology, Georgie. If you'd excuse me."

The group of Reapers looks after him in silence and the radio blares sadly:_ Happy New Year, Happy new year…._

_

* * *

_

_3. A Whole lotta shakin' going on_

He has the radio turned on to the loudest volume possible and he has cake. He also has a bottle of whiskey. Music, booze and sugar rushes have always been three constants in his life, three things that he has always embraced and that hasn't changed much.

Little Richard yells from the radio in the corner and Mason springs to his feet, striking a pose. He had an ugly reap today. Teenage boy. Good, smart kid, with a love for the classics, but an unfortunately-angled shelf. If he hadn't had that shelf he might have gone far.

Mason took the kid outside so he wouldn't have to look at the damage done to his body. Outside, they performed their very own rendition of "A whole lotta shakin' going on", air guitar and all that. When they were finished and out of breath, the boy's soul looked at Mason, out of breath and with a smile that slowly slid off his face.

"You were there?" he inquired curiously as response to what Mason had told him earlier. "In the Sixties? In the UK? With the Beatles and the Rolling Stones and everything?" When Mason nodded, the boy's eyes went wide. "Awesome," he breathed.

"It wasn't all that awesome," Mason sighed as memories of red brick houses, foggy streets and hung-over mornings combined with evenings spent lying high on someone's carpet caught up to him.

The kid smiled at him. "Take my CD collection and keep on twisting and shouting for me, will you?" he merely asked and then walked into his lights constituted by a band whose members looked with their uniform haircuts an awful lot like the Beatles in the Sixties.

Mason takes a long swig of his Whiskey and another one. This is depressing. He gulps some more Whiskey down and says quietly to the thin air: "I will, kid, I promise."

When George and Daisy arrive much much later, Mason is lying on the couch, horizontally floating in the air, rolling over the edge of the couch, falling on the ground and lying there eagle-spread, flailing about in a comical manner, still mouthing the words of the song coming from the radio.

"Mason what are you doing?" George inquires finally slowly.

Mason looks up at her and for some reason the question makes him laugh and laugh and laugh some more. Then tears come to the mix and through the alcohol haze fogging up his brain he can't tell whether he's laughing or crying. Maybe both- it's never made a big difference to him throughout his life or afterlife anyway.

"I am twisting and shouting," he comments and grins a grin that doesn't reach his eyes. "It's awesome."

* * *

_3. Pretty little angel eyes _

"I compare thee to a Summer's day," Mason says as introduction the moment he steps out in the garden.

Daisy lifts an elegant blond eyebrow from where she is sitting on a blanket in the meadow.

"It's supposed to be "Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day", Mason. You as an Englishman should know Shakespeare," she points out.

"Oh yeah?" Mason inquires and sits down next to her. "How does it go?"

Thus challenged, Daisy gets to her feet. "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day," she recites, " thou art more lovely and more temperate…"

Mason looks at her and wants to say something, but the sight of her literally takes his breath away. The sunrays kiss her hair and make it glow and the white dress that she wears makes her seem more like an angel than some being of this sad miserable world.

"You would have made a wonderful actress," he comments finally, although the words seem inadequate.

Daisy smiles nearly shyly and that makes Mason love her more. He knows she isn't what she pretends to be; that cold-hearted vain starlet is an act. She is a very talented actress but Mason has seen through her act, being a pretender himself. They are a pair he thinks, the fallen starlet and the sad clown but in reality he knows that she is much too good for him. He doesn't only pretend he is a loser. He may have some brains but he is a screw-up and an alcoholic and a drug-addict nonetheless and he has never felt more like a loser than right now.

As if she has read his thoughts, Daisy asks: "How would you have picked up a girl back in the day, Mason? Surely not with a Shakespeare sonnet?"

He ponders this for a moment, then smiles: "If she was as beautiful as you are, I might have got down on my knee and sang _Pretty little angel eyes oooh oooh ooh, pretty little angel eyes I really love you so, I never let you go because I love you, my darling angel eyes…"_

When he is finished, Daisy is smiling, much to his surprise. "That was not what I am used to but it was beautiful," she says softly and Mason melts right there on the spot. She is an angel with pretty angel eyes and although he will never be on the same step as her he is content to rest in her shadow forever.

* * *

_4. A foggy day in London town _

Mason misses London and England with a fierce intensity on some days. Even though his alive-life was largely spent getting as high and as drunk as he could and was not what he would have ever called cheerful, he loved the city of his birth. He misses the glittering water of the Thames, misses the implacable Guards in their red summer uniforms and misses the taste of real fish and chips and God, how long has it been that he has had a decent pint in a decent pub?

So when Frank Sinatra's voice comes from the speakers in "dem Waffel House" and he sings about a foggy day in London, he can't hold back a wistful sigh. It is pathetic- he even misses the fog.

Meanwhile Rube snorts. "What, they finally decided to change the music?"

Kiffany comes to their table. At Rube's repeated query, she shrugs. "New management. Who wants coffee?"

Mason ignores them all. He only concentrates on the song, even closes his eyes as he does so. He is there, he is actually there. He is standing on Tower Bridge, a fresh breeze in his hair. He is in a dimly-lit Pub, drinking Guinness. He is entering the Tube through those narrow, winding tunnels with their many staircases that make the London Underground so unique. He is in St. James's Park, watching the pelicans and those pesky little squirrels and he smiles when-

"Mason!"

He ignores the voice, doesn't want to part with his illusion.

"Mason!" The voice comes again.

He finally opens his eyes to see his fellow Reapers all staring at him with looks ranging from clear annoyance (Rube) to clear concern (George and maybe, just maybe Daisy).

"What did I miss?"

"You high?" Rube comments sourly. "Or is it normal for you to space out during conversations like that?"

Just to spite Rube, Mason replies: "It is perfectly normal."

Rube merely raises his eyebrows at him in clear irritation, but he refrains from further comments, clearly considering Mason to be below his level as Mason thinks angrily.

Frank Sinatra comes to a glorious close and Rube hands them their post-its, still in annoyed silence. Mason ignores the annoyed silence. They have no idea what it is like, he thinks sullenly. Wrenched out of their time periods they may all be, but they are at least still on the right continent.

Everyone soon leaves. Well, almost everyone save for George who merely sits next to him and is silent.

"I'd give a lot to be back there," Mason mumbles in his hands and his voice trembles a little. "I'd even get on one of those bloody planes."

George has understood, he knows as much. She rests a hand on his shoulder and gets up eventually to go, leaving Mason to stare at the tabletop.

A few days later George, just before she goes to bed, silently hands him a package and then bids him goodnight without a word of explanation. Curious, Mason tears the package open. He has always loved presents. It's Ale, genuine British Ale and dear God, Mason knows that it is expensive here. He ignores his suddenly stinging eyes.

On the next morning after a long night spent pining for an entire different set of sparkling City lights than the ones he sees every day, Mason, when he sees George in the morning simply says:

"Thank you."

* * *

_5. Crazy man crazy_

On his fortieth Deathday Mason puts on his best blue suede shoes and enjoys Summer in the City. Daisy has joined him after her reap and she is now walking by his side through the sunny scenery of a Park, a look of curiosity on her face.

"Why are your shoes blue?"  
"You are supposed to wear blue suede shoes in the summertime," he points out. She just looks confused, but Mason merely smiles and slips his hand in hers.

She doesn't pull her hand back which makes him secretly quiver inside.

"They used to call me Crazy Man Crazy back in the day," he offers conversationally and at her silent query adds: "My mates. Back in England."

"After your inspiring rendition of every song you have ever heard back in the bar that night a few weeks back I can certainly understand it," Daisy replies lightly, but there is a smile in her voice.

Mason grins; he is quite fond of the memory of that night. After all he spent the entire night singing karaoke and getting drunk with a guy he'd never even met before. But Daisy had a good time as well and he knows as much, so he merely bends down to whisper in her ear:

"You know you loved it."

Daisy replies just as quietly- and her breath ghosts over Mason's cheeks, making him tremble: "I like my crazy man crazy too much for it to be any different."

Mason's long-stopped heart nearly stops again at these words. Did she really call him hers? A look at her secretive smile confirms it. Forty long years since his death and Mason has never been happier than in that moment.

He is a walking paradox: raindrops keep falling on his head yet he feels like Sunshine Superman. He has been a Wanderer before, but right now he has started being A Believer for he is fairly sure that he will never find another one like Daisy.

Crazy man crazy indeed.

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fin


End file.
